


Make Some New Ones

by marguerite_26



Series: my mating games ficlets and drabbles [8]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M, Memory Loss
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-02
Updated: 2013-06-02
Packaged: 2017-12-13 18:44:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,127
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/827586
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marguerite_26/pseuds/marguerite_26
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles wakes in a world where everyone thinks Derek kissing him is perfectly normal, only he has no memories of why this is okay.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Make Some New Ones

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for the 6th challenge at Mating Games. I choose the prompt:  
>  _On a hot summer night. Would you offer your throat to the wolf with the red roses?_  
>  ~ Meatloaf’s **You took the words right out of my mouth**
> 
> Thanks to everyone who voted for it. This is a slightly extended version.

Stiles wakes with a throbbing head and a sore neck -- in no way is he ready to roll out of bed anytime soon but the sliding of his window has him peeking an eye open. He’d expecting Scott, so when he spots leather and stubble he’s sitting up and scrubbing at his face to wake himself a bit more.

“Derek?”

“You weren’t answering your phone,” Derek says.

Stiles’ eyes flicker to his phone. It’s on his nightstand as always but how and why he’d missed any calls last night is blurry. When he tries to think back there are no memories of going to bed early or turning off his phone.

“I don’t --” He looks up and finds Derek’s eyebrows lowering until his face is a mess of concern. “Why were you calling me?”

Derek sits down next to Stiles’ hip and Stiles panics a bit at the proximity, shuffling backwards and wishing his legs weren’t trapped awkwardly beneath the blanket.

“We were supposed to meet at Scott’s. Did you forget?”

“I guess?” Stiles looks at his phone again like it holds all the answers. His mind’s blank on what on earth persuaded Scott to ever agree to have Derek over and why it’s Derek checking in on him instead of Scott.

“It’s okay. I just-- I thought something happened to you.” Suddenly Derek’s hand is cupping his jaw and he’s leaning forward. Stiles is frozen, shocked as Derek’s lips press to his.

“What the hell, man!” Stiles pulls away and twists out from beneath Derek. “You can’t just--”

“Stiles?” Derek’s looking at him like Stiles is the crazy one, like Derek walking up and just _kissing_ him is everyday shit.

“Is this a joke?” Stiles snaps, wiping his mouth.

It’s only when Derek’s face closes off that Stiles’ recognizes how open, how vulnerable it had been a moment before. By the time he figures out that something stranger than Derek kissing him is going on, Derek’s taken off out the window.

\---

“Derek said you’re acting weird.”

Stiles looks up from his laptop to see Scott sliding his window back closed. Stiles has a lot of questions, including why would Derek kiss me, instead he settles on, “Since when do you talk to Derek?”

Scott blinks at him, looking as confused as Derek had an hour before. After a beat, he says, “Where did you get those claw marks?”

“Huh?” Stiles reaches up to touch the spot on his neck Scott’s staring at and finds a scabbed-over wound. “I don’t remember.”

Scott frowns. “I guess you wouldn’t.”

\---

After Scott makes a bunch of whispered phone calls -- none of which Stiles’ human hearing is privy to -- Lydia shows up.

Without any explanation she sets up her laptop on Stiles’ kitchen table and stared him down until he sits across from her.

For the next hour, he endures a couple hundred Yes or No questions; some simple: “Did you take me to the Winter formal?” (Yes); some crazy: “Did Derek kiss you at your last birthday party?” (No); some painful: “Were you with your mother when she died?” and “Were you with your first girlfriend when she died?” (No and Yes).

By the time she’s done she’s ghostly white.

\---

Stiles isn’t dumb.

Between the missed phone calls (including five from Derek) and his call history (including some texts that make him blush), Stiles is able to get some idea why everyone is looking at him with pity when he doesn’t want to be alone with Derek.

On his bedroom walls there are pictures of events he no longer remembers, pictures with Derek smiling that Stiles swears must be photoshopped.

He wishes the sight of them didn’t do such funny things to his gut.

\---

Derek shows up a few days later, looking at Stiles like Stiles is capable of tearing out his heart with a single word.

He knows Derek’s half expecting him to slam the door in his face. It’s tempting, but if Derek really has smiled at Stiles like in those pictures, if Stiles has _made_ Derek smile like that, well, Stiles deserves those memories back, doesn’t he?

Stiles opens the door wider. Derek’s face scrunches up in a way that might be funny any other time. It’s not now. It makes Stiles need to understand who this man is standing in front of him, why he’d looking at Stiles like that.

So Stiles bares his neck and says, “Show me.”

Derek hesitates, like he’s weighing which decision will hurt less, then he’s sticking his claws into Stiles’ nape, re-opening the nearly healed wounds.

\---

They’re up against a tree, Derek’s hand on Stiles’ dick. He can feel Derek’s nerves in that moment, can guess at his own. This is probably his first time, though it aches that he can’t be sure. The world around them smells of blood and forest and sweat. Stiles’ cock is heavy and warm in Derek’s palm. He comes with his face buried in the crook of Derek’s shoulder.

Derek holds him close as he trembles, not caring about the sticky mess pressed between them.

He feels a flood of emotion as they kiss, and he’s shocked to realize the longing is all Derek’s, that empty hole he feels filling up is Derek’s. It’s Derek’s memory, after all.

A dozen or more memories stream by in a blur. The next he catches starts with soft sheets and a warm breeze floating through Stiles’ open window. They’re slick with sweat but moving lazy and slow against each other, like they’ve done this all night, like they have all the time in the world.

Like this time is to be savored.

Stiles wishes he could remember why.

\---

Derek leaves when he’s done giving all he can. He doesn’t pull Stiles into a passionate embrace like this is a mid-summer romantic comedy. He nods and leaves Stiles alone with his thoughts, with these memories that don’t feel like his.

Stiles sits on his bed, staring at the wall and sifts through them all, deciding if he is able to accept what’s in his head as truth.

\---

Derek gives him time -- a full two weeks -- before he appears at Stiles’ door again. When he does, he has a bouquet of red roses in his hand and a blank expression on his face.

Stiles lets him in, reaches out and strokes his hand down Derek’s cheek. He watches Derek’s eyes flutter shut and feels the thrill of something new growing deep in his belly.

He takes the flowers and Derek’s hand, and leads him inside.

His memories are gone and Derek’s borrowed ones playout like a movie where he is nothing but an audience in someone else’s most intimate moments.

That doesn’t mean he can’t make some new ones.

**Author's Note:**

> [me on tumblr](http://marguerite26.tumblr.com/)


End file.
